


Valentine’s Night Out

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: The Johnlock Utopia (Holidays and Celebrations) Series [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom John Watson, Breathplay, Butt Plugs, Canon divergent - after ASiB, Deep Throating, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Happy times, I'll add more tags later, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut, Switching, Top John Watson, Top Sherlock, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-24 11:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17703239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: John and Sherlock have been invited to join their friends at a pub for Valentine's Day. Sherlock has plans to spice the evening up a bit.I asked myself a question: What could John and Sherlock become if they had never experienced the array of horrible things that happened to them? This fic is the answer that came to my head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll post new chapters every day (or every other day) until finished at ch5.
> 
> Part 4 of [The Johnlock Holidays and Celebrations Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1256318)  
> All parts can be read as standalone. 
> 
> The whole Holidays series of fics happens and is canon divergent after A Study in Belgravia and stays in a happy Johnlock zone. No Moriarty, no Reichenbach, and no Mary. Johnlock Utopia.

 

A lot had changed since that memorable day, a week before Christmas, when Sherlock so bluntly proposed to John by whispering the word “Husband” They both decided that they should keep the big announcement to themselves for a while since not all of their of friends and family were even certain they were a couple. 

The relationship announcement came during the low-key Christmas party they had organized at 221B. It seemed that John was the only one not aware that they had been acting like a couple for a long time before he had started considering his feelings for his flatmate. Greg whooped excitedly in reaction to the news and later revealed that there was a hefty sum waiting for him at Scotland Yard from an ongoing bet about whether or not the CSI Baker Street team were an item.

When it came to telling Sherlock’s family, John had to threaten his newly-acquired boyfriend with messing up his sock index in order to make him at least text Mycroft with the information. During the first week of the new year, after hiding Sherlock’s lab equipment and threatening to destroy Sherlock’s latest experiment, John had finally made Sherlock cough up the address of his parents’ house. 

To John’s utter shock they seemed like perfectly ordinary people at first glance; so unlike his extraordinary fiancé. While having a chat with Mr. Holmes, John soon learned that Sherlock’s mother was the brilliant one in their marriage and that she was the one whom Sherlock took after. The woman knew how to encourage Sherlock’s mind; she knew how to make him exercise his brilliant young brain and expand his knowledge.  At the time, it seemed for both of Sherlock’s parents that focusing on the intellectual side of their prodigal son was what Sherlock needed the most; Both Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had come to fear that they might have neglected Sherlock's emotional side.

John assured him that that was not the case at all. Mr. Holmes was glad that John was with Sherlock, as he saw a lot of himself in John and approved of him wholeheartedly. John assured him that Sherlock was a wonderful man and they should be proud for raising him exactly the way he was. 

The best part of the whole trip was the moment when Mrs. Holmes took out family albums. Sherlock turned various shades of red when John gushed over the cute photographs. Under a veil of secrecy, Mrs Holmes gave John an envelope with several of John’s favourites to keep.

“I do not want them in frames, John.” Sherlock demanded the moment they sat in the train. Of course he had noticed the envelope in John’s pocket.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in my wallet so I can use them against you when you misbehave on a crime scene.”

“Misbe...John!” Sherlock’s face was appalled and it made John burst into giggles.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, but you should see your face!” 

-

The day of February the fourteenth came and Sherlock woke up in bed alone and petulant at John’s cruelty. He reached for his phone. It was after 11am. He wrapped himself more tightly in the sheets, cocooning himself in all of them just because he could, because John was not with him. He had abandoned Sherlock, left him alone...

Once he was a proper Sherlock-burrito he slid one arm out to type a text.

<TXT> It’s not fair that you have to work today. SH

<TXT> Did you just wake up? I’ll be home soon.

<TXT>Why today? SH

<TXT>I just work part time anyway. The schedule has been on the calendar for weeks.

.

.

<TXT> Sherlock, I can almost see your pout.

<TXT> Stop it. I’ll be back in two hours.

Huffing, Sherlock unwrapped himself and got dressed. He still had several hours to kill before John came back and the mould in the kitchen needed his attention. He had had to convince John that he couldn’t have used the mould that occasionally appeared on the wall for this particular experiment. It had to be grown in the makeshift-lab conditions in the kitchen. John had not been amused.  

-

On his way up the stairs to 221B, John wanted to make sure Sherlock wouldn’t see him in the state he was in. He could hear the clunking sound of glass slides in the kitchen which meant his detective would be hunched over the microscope.  

“Stay where you are, Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn’t respond, which meant he heard him and said “Okay”.

“Don’t come near me, a sick toddler came in with food poisoning. And I was the unfortunate recipient.”

“I didn’t need to know the details,” came a response from the kitchen.

John headed straight for the shower. A quick and efficient wash took him no more than five minutes. He contemplated shaving, which had become a habit in the evenings. Sherlock liked him clean-shaven before bed but he could postpone that till closer to the time.

The first thing John saw on the landing, when he exited the bathroom, was a post-it note that said “Upstairs”. With just the towel around his waist, John followed the instruction.

John’s old room upstairs had become their bedroom because John had felt better with their bedroom antics taking place a little further away from the prying ears of their not-housekeeper. There might still be several bets going on between Mrs. Hudson and her friends from the neighbourhood. 

Besides, there were clients constantly coming and going and they’d rather keep their private activities as private as it was possible.  

Sherlock had just insisted on his satin sheets being on their bed rather than the practical cotton John was used to. The satin had kept magically sliding off John and wrapping itself around Sherlock at night so finally, they had compromised on Egyptian cotton sheets at a price which Sherlock refused to reveal.

John opened the bedroom door to find Sherlock sprawled naked on the bed like Dionysus, ready to feast and be feasted on. He looked absolutely breathtaking in his silliness. John laughed out loud but seeing Sherlock’s smug expression fade, he climbed on the bed to kiss it better, his towel sliding forgotten to the floor.

John pinned Sherlock to the bed, straddling him and linking their hands together above Sherlock’s head. 

“Hi,” John said, smiling down at his detective whose eyes were twinkling with mirth. He didn’t respond, but instead flicked his tongue over John’s lips. John leaned in to link their mouths in a slow and sensual kiss. A languid exchange of unspoken words, whole sentences that didn’t need to be said out loud for them to understand that they needed each other after half-a-day apart.

John felt the tension from his day at work evaporating into the comfortable atmosphere, his muscles relaxing. He released Sherlock’s hands so he could slide his fingers in his detective’s soft hair as he broke the kiss and propped himself on his forearms. Sherlock’s hands travelled along the back of John’s thighs before grabbing his arse and pulling him even closer. John could feel the need in him building and his mind already plotted how to make this gorgeous man underneath him scream his name in ecstasy.

John reached between them to fondle Sherlock’s sac and ask playfully: “How much did you miss me?”

“It’s him that missed you the most,” Sherlock pointed to his cock which did a little twitch for show and John’s laugher exploded from his chest.

“He still needs a name.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Sherlock’s appalled expression defied the mirth clearly bubbling up inside him.

“Mr. Cock. Nah, too formal.” John grinned seeing how Sherlock was rolling his eyes. It was rather encouraging. “Sir. Penis. Same. Master Dick. Dick Dickens... I know!” John grinned. “I’ve got it!” He took Sherlock’s erection and with as serious voce as he could muster addressed it “I name thee Charles, after the very esteemed writer Charles Dickens.”

Sherlock sighed, grinned then chuckled. “That almost makes sense if one follows your crooked logic, John.”

“I think Charles needs a kiss,” John slid lower to plant one on the tip of Sherlock’s cock.

“What he needs is a massage, John.”

“Oh does he?” John wrapped his fingers around the aptly named part of his fiancé’s body and squeezed. The groan that left Sherlock’s lips reverberated through John’s entire body. Dear God, that voice. “Tell me what else he needs,” John smiled mischievously. He’d do anything to hear Sherlock’s sultry low voice in bed.

“It is safe to assume that a meet and greet from a friend would be advisable,” Sherlock looked pointedly at John’s groin. “Looks like we have a volunteer,” he said in mock surprise that made John release a laugh. 

“And I’m supposed to be the one who’s silly. Come here,” John climbed on top of the larger man, straddling him so that their cocks met. He braced himself on Sherlock’s pecs, watching how his detective’s perfect lips formed a grin.

Their smiles turned into gasps when John moved creating a delicious frottage. Sherlock took them both in one large hand and squeezed before giving the two cocks a tug. They were both hard now and ready to make this day better.

John leaned to reach Sherlock’s neck with his lips. He licked the place right under his ear and then blew air on it. He would never tire of looking at the goosebumps on Sherlock’s neck caused by his touch. It was his fiancé's soft spot and, knowing that well, John repeated the motion and then bit gently before sucking the skin. Sherlock writhed, groaning, underneath him. In a lascivious whisper, John told Sherlock how he planned to mount him, how Sherlock would feel his cock inside thrusting, filling him, just the way he liked.

“John...” Sherlock's voice was strained with lust. “I need you inside me...”

“Yes...”

“But not yet.”

“What?” John looked up to see Sherlock’s face. The wicked smile he saw there made a shiver run down his spine. 

John's breath went out of him in a rush when Sherlock flipped them over, reversing their positions and reached for the lower bedside drawer, the one with toys. Sherlock was meticulous about the proper care of sex toys and they were always ready for use, waiting in separate plastic boxes. He picked a clear box, then from the top drawer he took out lube and placed both items next to John’s hip. The sultry look on Sherlock’s face made John’s body flush before he glanced at the toy his partner had prepared.

The black silicone prostate massager was simple, 15 cm long, with rounded tip and flared base that John knew would fit flush between his cheeks. John’s eyes were still locked on the toy when he felt Sherlock’s teeth close around his nipple.

“Sherlock!” he yelped clapping his palm over the sensitive spot as a flush of excitement pooled in his abdomen. His detective smiled lasciviously at him before he made his way to the other nipple. John was prepared this time and just sucked air through his teeth as the sensation of Sherlock’s teeth then tongue and a puff of air teased his peaked bud. After those ministrations, his nipples were hard, red and wanting more but Sherlock abandoned them to move lower. He nipped John’s skin gently this time, kissing each place better after he touched it with his teeth until he reached John’s left hip. Sherlock bit the left buttock and John moved to the side, bending one knee so that Sherlock could have better access to his entrance.

Sherlock purred into John’s skin as he licked his way along the crease between John’s arse cheeks.

“Sherlock... fuck...”

“Mmmm not yet,” came the muffled reply before the licking resumed.

-

John was so beautiful in his abandon, eagerly presenting himself to be licked, turning into lateral position and Sherlock could not be happier. The knowledge that John could easily reverse their positions and overpower him added to the thrill he felt. Sherlock would let him, because when John was in the mood to top, he showed impressive initiative and wielded his authoritative voice in such a way that Sherlock found himself unable to resist. They matched when it came to strength and agility, making their bedroom experience all the more exciting. 

Sherlock held a firm hand on John’s thigh to keep him in place as he teased his hole before delving his tongue inside. John’s groan encouraged Sherlock further and he flattened his tongue to lick all the way to his sac and back before flicking his tongue inside John until he squirmed. 

When his doctor was properly licked, Sherlock turned him to lay flat on his back. John lifted his hips so Sherlock could place a pillow there, the doctor’s legs falling open, unabashedly asking for more. Sherlock was ready to please when he looked at John from his position between the doctor’s legs. 

John’s lips were parted, the panting breaths making them dry until his lovely tongue flicked over them in an erotic motion. Sherlock still held John’s gaze when he slid his own tongue from his doctor’s balls to the tip of his cock, paying special attention to the frenulum before he sucked just the glans into his mouth. Sherlock moaned at the taste he had waited all day to enjoy. He was aware that his action sent vibrations through John’s cock and he repeated it just to see John arch, desperately trying to thrust more of himself into Sherlock’s mouth. Then Sherlock let him, easing the suction so John could thrust upward and slide his cock deep until it hit the back of Sherlock’s throat. His eyes watered and he positioned himself to allow his throat to open before another thrust came. He was unable to fit John’s length otherwise and John, knowing that, slowed his thrusts into a glide before he stopped. That let Sherlock lower his mouth languidly, relaxing his throat and letting John’s cock slide deep into it.

The doctor’s groans intensified and Sherlock felt John’s hand sliding into his hair, the fingertips brushing Sherlock’s scalp before taking a firm hold on the curls. Sherlock worked his throat around the glans as saliva poured from his mouth slicking the path as he moved up, finally releasing John’s cock.

“You’ll kill me one day doing this, Sherlock...” John’s growl confirmed he was ready for what Sherlock had in store next. “And I would die a happy man.” John finished and thrust his hips in the air making his heavy erection bob on his abdomen. 

Sherlock reached for the lube still lying next to John’s hip and poured a generous amount directly below John’s balls, catching the liquid with his fingers and spreading it around the doctor’s hole. John arched with a salacious sound when Sherlock slid one finger past the ring of muscle. He massaged, spreading the lubrication inside before he pushed another digit in. He had to hold John’s thigh down so his writhing wouldn’t disengage his fingers. John braced himself on the headboard above his head and pushed, seating himself harder on Sherlock’s hand.

The detective moved inside his partner careful not to reach his prostate, wanting John to last longer, a lot longer. When he pulled out, the needy whimper that came from the doctor was mixed with cursed threats if he didn’t continue. Sherlock took the prostate massager out of the box and generously slicked it before positioning it at John’s entrance. Sherlock groaned at the sight, his cock leaking precome, and he had to restrain himself from rutting against the sheets. 

“John,” he moaned, pushing the rounded tip of the toy into his partner, looking at John’s body swallowing it. He imagined his own cock doing the same, but there was still time for that, he told himself. A loud dull thump sounded as the sensation caused John to punch the headboard he was braced against.

“Fuck, Sherlock... I’m gonna...” he panted.

“No. You’re not. You can take it.” Sherlock encouraged, his own voice gravelly from arousal. He could come from just looking at John, a soldier in the throes of passion. “Breathe, John and count to ten,” Sherlock instructed before he took John’s penis deep into his mouth and sucked.

John took a deep breath then releasing it said, “One.” He took another breath and did the same with the subsequent number. Sherlock could feel John’s muscles relaxing where he held him and he pushed the toy in further. Sucking John gently, he moved the toy back a little before inserting it a tad more. John was at number six when the tip of the dildo touched his prostate. He moaned number seven and his breathing turned back into panting. Sherlock rotated the toy a little to perfect the positioning in order to maximise his doctor’s pleasure. 

With the plug pushed all the way into John’s arse, Sherlock massaged the flared base of the toy, moving it slightly, knowing from the gasps that his doctor could feel the pressure inside his body. With one last suck, Sherlock’s mouth loosened its grip on John and he sat back on his haunches, taking a moment to appreciate the erotic picture in front of him before he spoke.

“Now, get dressed.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Sherlock! I can’t possibly go to the pub like this,” John’s outraged exclamation didn’t faze Sherlock in the slightest. 

“No, not like this, they would kick us out. That’s why you need to get dressed.” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

“That’s rich coming from a man who wore a sheet to Buckingham Palace.” This time John managed a deadpan expression but Sherlock didn’t budge. 

Sherlock picked up a bundle of John’s clothes that hung prepared on a chair and lay them on the bed.

“You can’t be serious...” 

Sherlock approached John in three strides, knelt behind John on the bed, and put his hands on John’s hips, leaning in to lick the rising soft hairs on the side of his partner’s neck. John’s erection hung heavy between his legs and pulsed with need at Sherlock’s every touch. He reached to stroke it, laying his cheek on the pillow, but Sherlock batted his hand away and wrapped his own long fingers around John’s cock.

“Yes, Sherlock... that’s it.” John groaned, closing his eyes, letting himself enjoy the slow tug of Sherlock’s hand. He felt the orgasm building and a series of incoherent sounds left his lips as his body strove towards the release. 

“I want to watch you all evening and know that every time you move, you can feel the plug that I put inside you. I want to see you squirm with need each time you sit and the tip of it presses on your prostate,” Sherlock’s voice was gravel wrapped in silk and John pushed harder into his detective’s hand.

Sherlock slid his other palm between John’s arse cheeks and pressed the outer part of the toy. The gasp coming out of John’s mouth turned into a moan when Sherlock slid his tongue along John’s neck. 

“Yeees, that’s the sound I want to hear. And that’s the flushed face I want to see all evening. So by the time we arrive back here, you will be bursting with the need for my cock in your arse. For my hands on your body. For my lips on your skin.” 

“Sherlock,” John panted, moving his hips to slide in Sherlock’s grip. “Can we do it now?” 

“No.” Sherlock’s hand squeezed his cock and the word that grazed John’s ear made him want to strangle Sherlock but also fuck him senseless at the same time. “Count to ten and hold back.”

John breathed through his nose, counting in his mind, knowing that he would make Sherlock pay for this hundredfold. He smiled to himself, thinking of a particularly enticing scenario, but had to stop as his arousal was spiking instead of dwindling. 

“You’ve been doing your kegels, you can do it,” Sherlock grazed John’s ear once more as his low growl kept encouraging him to succeed. “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

“Promise,” John breathed through clenched teeth.

“I promise to replace the plug with my cock when we’re back tonight. I promise to kiss you, lick you and then fuck you until your throat is raw from screaming my name.” The voice, like dark chocolate, decadent but not sweet could make John do a lot of things that he didn’t initially think he’d enjoy but never regretted afterwards. He trusted Sherlock and his brilliantly wicked brain to come up with ideas that benefitted them both in the end.

At John’s curt nod and a release of long breath, the detective’s hand let go of his cock. John rolled to lay on his back, his palm on his stomach, his breathing even despite his racing heart. Reluctantly, he reached for the clothes that Sherlock laid on the bed next to him. The plug was undetectable under even the thinnest pair of trousers and John planned on wearing boxer briefs and jeans so he shouldn't need to worry on that account. Instead, he was worried about his state of arousal with a plug seated deep inside him during their evening out. 

“I swear if I regret this -” John started saying.

“You can handcuff me to the bed and tease me for two days like I know you want to,” Sherlock threw nonchalantly over his shoulder as he was on his way towards the bedroom door. His wicked smile confirmed the scenario as a win-win.

“Deal.”

_ _ _

The chilly February wind ruffled Sherlock’s curls as they exited the taxi. John’s eyes wandered over his detective's body as Sherlock turned his collar up and gave him a tiny wink over his shoulder. The man was incorrigible and John wouldn’t have him any other way. 

Through the large windows of the pub, John could see Mike chatting with Molly. There was a pretty brown-haired woman with them, thoroughly engaged in the same conversation. 

John waved at their friends when he and Sherlock entered the pub. 

“Hi,” John extended his hand to the new person at the table. “I’m John and this is Sherlock,” he indicated the figure shrugging his coat off. Sherlock turned his lips into a fake, smile-like expression, then looked at John and his smile reached his eyes. John felt warmth pooling in his chest seeing that smile. The detective scooted next to Mike on the sofa, positioning himself so that he could see the door and, at the same time, have a good view of the rest of the place. John knew exactly what Sherlock was doing because he did the same thing.

“Hello, I’m Betty,” said the woman shaking John’s hand and smiling in a way John might have paid attention to a lot more a year ago than he had now. She had a pleasantly high voice and was dressed in figure-hugging brown jumper-dress with a large belt around her slim waist. She stood up and John was painfully aware of the heels she wore as she towered over him for a second before bending and turning to kiss Molly square on the lips. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She excused herself leaving John’s eyebrows climbing on his forehead.

“Mike introduced us a few months back,” Molly said flushing slightly. “I didn’t want to make a fuss before, as I wasn’t sure. But now I am,” she looked up at John who was still standing, one hand on a wooden chair facing the table between him and the rest of the group.

“I’m happy for you, Molly,” John said, a warm feeling coming over him and a genuine smile naturally creeping to his lips. Between now-grinning Molly and text-typing Sherlock sat Mike, the epitome of his Cupid self with his face radiant with pride and cheeks slightly flushed from the half-drunk pint in his hand. A chuckle left John’s chest, warm and joyful.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was slightly scolding to get the detective’s attention. Sherlock lifted his eyes to John then glanced at Molly. He opened his mouth, looked at John again and closed it. 

“I can take it, Sherlock. This time I want to know,” said Molly in all seriousness. “I’d rather know before I let my heart be broken again.”

A surprisingly sheepish expression crossed Sherlock’s face before it disappeared and John knew then, Sherlock must have always been aware of Molly’s infatuation with him. Then the detective’s eyes focused on Molly as he leaned in closer to the table and looked at her over it. 

“You can start shopping for a nice thank-you gift for Mike. She’s a good match for you,” he said, surprising everyone as much with his statement as with the heartfelt way he delivered it. John felt a little proud of himself, hoping that he was rubbing off on Sherlock the right way.

“So she won’t break my heart?” Molly asked leaning over the table, her voice turning into a conspiratorial whisper.

“I didn’t say tha-” Sherlock started but John beat him to it. 

“What he means, is that she doesn't intend to break your heart and he is very happy for you as well,” John had to intervene before the smile on Molly’s face would fade to nothing. He was still holding Sherlock’s gaze when he sat on the chair and bit his cheek so as not to gasp. The smirk on Sherlock’s face told him that John’s realisation of what he sat on didn’t escape the famous detective’s notice.  

He released the flesh of his inner cheek and felt a metallic taste on his tongue which was a lot less distracting than the plug seated deep inside him. He had a moment of irrational fear that everyone in the pub knows, that they can tell, they can see his flushed cheeks and his straight back and deduce in a Sherlockian way what was the cause of it. 

“Count to ten,” Sherlock murmured, looking John in the eyes, his expression more serious, hiding the heat that flamed in his gaze.

John schooled his expression into a small smile and breathed through his nose, glad that Molly’s girlfriend was back and engaging everyone in a conversation. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes and felt himself calm down, his body relaxing. He refused to let himself get a boner in a pub, or at least not until everyone would be too drunk to notice. 

“Get a room!” came a familiar voice from the man who just barged into the bar, his grey coat covered with tiny droplets of rain.

“You’re one to talk,” Sherlock quipped and Greg’s blush spread through his face and from the little John could see of his neck, probably throughout his chest as well. It made John feel infinitesimally better about his own uncomfortable situation.  

Lestrade took the chair between John and Betty, whose hand he shook as they exchanged names. 

“I’ll get us some beers,” John announced standing up and heading towards the bar through the loud crowd in the space along the long top of the bar. He ordered pints for everyone and waited as the bartender poured glass after glass of the lager.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arse. At first, he thought it was an accident from a random bystander and he didn’t react until the hand slid in between his arse-cheeks as far as his trousers allowed.

“Can you feel it?” the low growl above John’s ear made him shiver and glad no one else could hear it over the noise. He nodded slightly without turning his head. It was enough of an encouragement in order for Sherlock to press his hand harder and move it in a slight up and down motion.

The gasp that left John’s lips was quickly masked by a fake cough as he felt the plug move inside him with the shift of Sherlock’s hand. The crowd around them concealed Sherlock's movements enough for them not to be discovered. John wanted to ride the wave of arousal that flooded him. He wanted to slide inside Sherlock and make him moan in much the same way as Sherlock was making him do.

“Count to ten,” Sherlock’s voice ordered. John did, as he remembered that he was still standing by a bar and not in the privacy of their flat.  

  _1 2 3 4_

“Ta,” John said to the bartender through a tight-lipped smile. 

_5 6 7_

“Don’t worry, everyone thinks you’re red in the face from booze or cold,” Sherlock leaned in to take two glasses out of six that the barman slid in front of John and took the opportunity to continue his sentence next to John’s ear, “but only I know that you’re getting ready to receive my cock.”

_8 9 10_

John flushed a new level of crimson, brought the drinks to the table and excused himself.


	3. Chapter 3

In the bathroom, John splashed handfuls of cold water on his face. It hadn’t helped nearly enough but cooled the blush on his cheeks a little. John braced his hands on the sink and looked in the mirror where his gaze met the tall, dark-haired man behind him.  

John swivelled around, took Sherlock by the lapels of his suit jacket and slammed his back against the wall inside an open stall before he crashed their mouths together. The detective’s hands went to grasp John’s nape and squeeze his arse. Fire crackled around them or so it seemed to John whose tongue danced with his lover’s in a needy tango of desire. John’s hand slid to Sherlock’s crotch and massaged the bulge there, eliciting a groan from the taller man. John’s other hand wrapped around Sherlock’s throat and squeezed. The detective gasped, breaking the kiss and throwing his head back to let John get a better grip.  

“I can’t be the only one suffering tonight,” John whispered into Sherlock’s neck and squeezed the cock he was caressing through the fabric of the detective’s trousers. “It wouldn’t be fair...” John applied pressure with both his hands and squeezed out another lewd groan from his lover. As much as he found the idea of making Sherlock come in his pants appealing, he had no intention of letting their play be wasted on a quickie in a bathroom stall. In hindsight, it was clear that orgasm denial did wonders for them both. 

With a whoosh and a thump that John barely registered, he was flipped to switch places. He found himself positioned with his back to the wall and his right leg lifted and bent at the knee. Sherlock braced one arm on the wall next to John’s head while the other was holding his leg up. Their foreheads met. Their panting breaths mingled. The detective positioned John’s right leg to wrap around his waist and John took the hint to keep it there. 

Sherlock's palm slid slowly on the outside of John’s right thigh towards his arse. His fingers crept to the plug and John released a breathy moan. They were impossibly close, their chests flush, Sherlock’s hard cock pressed to John’s abdomen. They moved in tandem like a slow wave, frotting against each other and John felt the orgasm building in him for the second time today.

“Don’t,” Sherlock growled, his fingers still pushing against the plug, making John squirm.

“We can do it in the stall...” John was inclined to change his mind now that he was on the receiving end of the play.

“You don’t want that.”

“What if I do?”

“If you can’t take it anymore, you know our safeword.”

“Vatican Cameos,” John breathed.

“Are you safewording?”

John released a groan-turned-moan as he ground his hips into his partner’s hand. “No.... but I’ll have to be inside you tonight. I need to...”

“You will,” Sherlock promised and his smile became impossibly more wicked as he reached for John’s belt. In a matter of moments John found himself turned around and bent over with his trousers at shin-level. This man made him want to do unspeakable things, in a public bathroom no less. 

John spread out his palms on the wooden wall of the stall in order to balance himself better. He felt Sherlock’s hand slide from his nape, along his spine and to his arse. The detective’s other hand was teasing his nipple in small flicks through the fabric of his checked shirt and jumper. The disbelief at what they were doing and where, dissipated and only he and Sherlock remained when the fingers caressing his arse reached for the plug.

“Oh God...” John pushed towards the hand and the plug brushed his prostate. Manoeuvring it by the crescent-shaped end, Sherlock created a slow massaging rhythm which drove John’s fervour even higher. 

A loud noise echoed in the bathroom and it took a moment for John to realise it was made by his hand slapping on the wooden planks the instant Sherlock started pulling the plug out.

Long cold fingers wrapped around John’s cock, not moving, not tugging, just holding him in a tight grip. John thrust into the hand and had to bite his knuckles in order not to cry out and let his near ecstasy be known to the whole pub.

“Hold still.” Sherlock’s voice was laced with desire so fierce, John felt empowered with the knowledge that it was because of him. 

“But I want to...” John whimpered.

“Don’t come, John. Not yet.”

“But I’m so...so...oh Sherlock...so close.”

“Count,” Sherlock ordered, taking his hand away from the plug and placing it on John’s arse-cheek. 

“One,” a breath through his nose and an exhale through his mouth, “two,” John continued all the while squeezing the muscles he trained as per his lover’s instructions, helping him withhold from coming. The hand on John’s arse squeezed in encouragement. 

When he finished counting, John gave a nod and Sherlock started removing the plug again. This time, John didn’t thrust into the hand holding his cock and instead focused on his kegels, on his lover’s hands on him, on the promise of mind-blowing orgasms in the quiet of their bedroom. 

Once the widest part of the plug left his body, John relaxed and took a deep breath, only now realising that the bathroom was thankfully rather clean. He straightened his stance but Sherlock’s now empty hand remained on his arse. He squeezed and leaned to lick John’s neck, sweaty from exertion, before breathing right above John’s lips. “That was beautiful. Thank you.” 

John smiled hearing the need in Sherlock’s tone and seeing his arousal clearly in the large tent of his trousers. “I could come just from watching you withhold your orgasm, John.” Sherlock flicked his tongue over John’s lower lip. “But that wouldn’t be fair now, would it?”

“Definitely not,” John traced a fingertip over Sherlock’s cock and made the detective hiss and pull his hips back. “What did you do with the plug?”

Sherlock took it out of his jacket pocket. “I’ll toss it. I’ve already gotten you a bigger one anyway,” he winked then put a finger on his lips in universal motion to be quiet. 

The door to the restroom banged open and heavy steps indicating a large man moved past their stall. They heard the sound of urinating then a flow of water in the sink and soon after the man left.

Once it was completely quiet, Sherlock turned to open the door, “I’ll leave first,” he said leaving John to tuck his dwindling erection into his trousers and make himself presentable again.


	4. Chapter 4

John splashed some more water on his face by the sink before he was ready to join their friends. They hadn’t seemed to notice their disappearance or rather chose not to dwell on it. John took his seat and relished the taste of the cold beer hitting his throat. 

A gorgeous woman entered the pub. She looked like a runway model, and completely out of place in the cramped pub. Her long black hair glistened and her red dress moved with her as she walked, exposing a tasteful amount of her mocha skin. 

“Woooow...” John felt his mouth slacken. Even though he was in a relationship and very happy in it, he wasn’t blind or completely oblivious to a beautiful woman when she walked right in front of him. He smacked Sherlock’s shoulder to make him look just so he could be sure she was real. John saw in the corner of his eye that even Sherlock did a slight double-take before putting his nose back in his phone.  

“Hello,” Sherlock said to her and John’s eyebrows reached his hairline for the second time today. 

“Hi,” the woman said as she smiled warmly and sashayed closer to Sherlock. The detective scooted over and she took a seat between him and Mike.  

“Hello, honey,” said Mike tilting his head to receive the smack on the lips from the woman. “This is my Elaine,” said Mike and she shook hands with everyone as Mike introduced them.    

Greg went to get one more round of drinks for everyone and the conversation around the table resumed.  

John’s foot migrated to stroke Sherlock’s shin once in a while and he could tell by the stare he received back from his detective that his mind was already thinking of going home.  

John slapped his palms on his knees and stood up. “Thanks for the nice evening. It was a pleasure meeting you two,” he turned to Betty and Elaine. 

“You’re going already?” Molly asked but her hand was on Betty’s knee and clearly wanting to wander. John was quite proud of his deductions tonight and he smiled before answering. 

“Yeah, we’ve got plans.”  _And Sherlock had promises to keep._ “Charles has been waiting long enough.” He grinned at his own joke seeing Sherlock roll his eyes and Molly giving him a quizzical look. 

After putting their coats on and saying their goodbyes, John and Sherlock headed towards the door. Sherlock had been quite nice to everyone all evening. Well, he had been Sherlock-nice, which meant he hadn’t offended anyone. Maybe the sexual play had kept his mind occupied enough to want to behave. John smiled to himself as a set of ideas for the future crossed his mind. 

 

Two degrees Celsius made the rain outside chilly enough to be extremely unpleasant but not cold enough to freeze into soft snowflakes. John pushed the door open, leaving the pub with Sherlock on his heels for a change. 

“Tell my brother I knew it was the cook from the moment I saw the mug in his kitchen,” were the last words Sherlock said to the group of their friends, his eyes crinkling at the sides as he looked pointedly at Greg. 

Lestrade sputtered and started saying something but Sherlock closed the pub’s door and turned to John with a shrug feigning innocence.  

“What? Greg and... and...” John grimaced, “your brother? I thought he didn’t... You know, that he wasn’t,” he waved his hand trying to convey his meaning. 

“You had thought the same thing about me, hadn’t you?” Sherlock smiled. 

“Right,” John’s palm massaged his nape in a sheepish gesture.  

The drizzle outside turned into downpour in a matter of seconds and even Sherlock’s magical cab-calling powers would not help them. 

“We’ll never catch a cab on Valentine’s Day,” John sighed, turning his own collar up against the rain and wind. 

“Then let’s walk home.” 

“It’s three miles and-” 

“Let’s run then,” Sherlock smiled and extended his right hand palm up. “Take my hand and run with me, John.” 

In that moment, John was sure that it was the most romantic sentence John had ever heard. He closed his hand over his partner’s.  

“But your coat-” John started arguing but Sherlock waved his other hand in dismissal. 

“I have lots of coats.” 

They ran as they did the day they had moved in together, blood pumping through their veins, hearts racing, and leg muscles burning from exertion. And yet, it was exceedingly better this time because not only did they feel the comfort of their hands joined together but also, they knew they would spend the night at the home they ran towards in each other’s arms. 

John couldn’t be happier that the plug was no longer in his arse before Sherlock offered a run in the rain.


	5. Chapter 5

It was an extremely fortunate turn of events that Mrs. Hudson was spending a Valentine’s week vacation under the Antiguan sun. She was spared the ruckus they made entering through the front door and couldn’t be upset by any further noise issuing from upstairs, either.

The moment the door slammed shut, they kissed right there in the foyer, just like they should have done the day they had chased after the cabbie; just the way Sherlock had wanted to kiss John that day but foregoing the idea had been the sensible course of action at the time. He had needed a flat mate, and he couldn’t have afforded to ruin the chance of living with this ideal man with such a triviality as acting on his physical attraction towards him.

But oh how different a moment this was than the one years ago, Sherlock thought, and he licked John’s bottom lip before taking his mouth for a dance. His hands quickly travelled to unzip the soaked-through jacket John wore. Under his palms, he felt the cashmere of the jumper he had bought his doctor for Christmas. 

He let his hands slide from John’s abdomen up to his shoulders to push the jacket off and let it land on the floor. He felt his own coat being removed, then his suit jacket, and the tails of his shirt being tugged from the waist of his trousers. He felt John’s cold hands gripping the bare flesh of his hips under the shirt and he had to break the kiss to pant.

“Upstairs.”

“Oh God, yes.” John breathed back, pushing Sherlock towards the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt at the same time.

Sherlock was walking backwards, working to pull John’s jumper over his head. John let him and the wet navy cashmere landed on the stairs soon to be joined by Sherlock’s shirt. 

They stumbled to the stairs, falling, and then John was on top of Sherlock, kissing him again, sending shivers down his spine and channelling the need bubbling in them both. As if choreographed, they reached for each other’s flies, searching for the source of the ache in the other. 

Sherlock groaned into the kiss when John’s cold hand wrapped around his aching erection. His own hand found John’s cock and squeezed. John made a mewling sound of need, breaking the kiss and stopping Sherlock's hand mid-stroke.

“Shower.” John ordered in that tone that gave no room for argument and they both scrambled to their feet. Like teenagers caught snogging in an alley, they ran up the stairs holding their trousers up to keep them from sliding off.

The handle of the bathroom door made a loud bang as it connected with the wall when they pushed the door open, already stepping out of their trousers, shedding the remaining items of their clothing to the floor. 

-

John turned on the shower and, after the water warmed up, he stepped into the tub and reached for the bottle of liquid soap. He started washing himself efficiently but slowed down when he felt his lover’s body behind him. He turned around to see Sherlock lathering up his body and smiled fondly at the disaster that was Sherlock’s hair. 

“Let me,” he said, reaching for the expensive shampoo that was apparently so perfect for the lovely curls on Sherlock’s head. The detective bent his head under the spray of water, then allowed John to apply the liquid, but the doctor couldn’t reach all of his hair. “Kneel,” he said and the sultry look Sherlock gave him made his cock twitch in response.  

The detective lowered himself to his knees and looked up gracing John with a smirk. John slid his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, lathering the shampoo, massaging his lover’s scalp, making him purr. 

Sherlock continued purring when he wrapped his lips around John’s cock, sending sparks along John’s spine, heat to his abdomen. He had to force himself to release the tight grip he now had on Sherlock’s hair, holding on, urging Sherlock to take him deeper. The stream of water cascaded down John’s back and he reached around to detach the shower head. He was careful to rinse Sherlock’s hair but keep the water away from his face. 

Sherlock took the bottle of soap that had slid to the bottom of the tub before and lathered his hands before sliding them up John’s thighs to his balls. His skilful fingers fondled the heavy sac, making John groan. He whimpered in protest when the detective released his cock and stood up. Applying more soap on his hands, he asked him to turn and John obeyed, letting the spray of water hit his chest, and waited for his lover’s skilled hands to touch him again.

With more soap Sherlock massaged John’s upper back, his perpetually aching shoulder, and then moved to his lower back. He kneaded John’s buttocks before sliding his fingers into the crease between them. 

John released an animalistic sound when two of Sherlock's fingers slid inside his hole, the remnants of the lube from the plug play making it possible.

“Exquisite.” Sherlock whispered. “Both you and the sounds you make, John...”

More heat bloomed in John’s abdomen as he felt Sherlock inside him, his body behind his own. He pushed towards his detective’s hand wanting more.

“We can’t waste the opportunity of you being so open and ready for my cock, John.” Sherlock said, his low growl in John’s ear making him on the verge of begging. Thankfully, Sherlock positioned himself behind John, the water raining down over his head when he reached for the tube of silicone lube that stood next to John’s shampoo bottle for occasions such as this one. He poured some on his hand, careful to shield John’s arse from the water with his body and slid the two fingers in again but with more lubrication.

John moaned and clenched around Sherlock’s fingers which explored him just a moment longer before the detective lubed his cock and positioned it at John’s entrance. 

“Jooohn,” Sherlock said his name as if it was the most beautiful name in the world instead of the simplest one, conveying the depth of his arousal in one word before he continued. “I’ve been fantasising about this moment all evening,” Sherlock punctuated his words with shallow thrusts, nudging the tip of his cock inside.

“That’s hardly my fault!” John pushed back onto Sherlock even harder, causing the head of his lover’s cock to slide inside him. He cursed under his breath at the glorious feeling.

“You were the one parading your arse...”

“Have you seen  _your_  arse?!”

“Oh do be quiet, John and let me...” Sherlock thrust again, abandoning the unfinished sentence. John could easily deduce what his detective meant, and cried out as the feeling of fullness overwhelmed him. Sherlock drove his cock deeper and deeper into John, until his wet body slapped against John’s with a ferocity hitherto unheard of.

To gain better balance John placed one foot up on the edge of the tub, to make access even easier for Sherlock. Unfortunately, by accidentally bumping the hot tap and turning it slightly, he changed the spray of water above them to cold. They both yelped, detached and stumbled out of the tub, laughing like a couple of idiots.

Sherlock took one towel for himself and threw another one at John, neither of them willing to go back into the slippery disaster. 

- 

They padded to the upstairs bedroom, towels around their waists. John’s long-legged boyfriend took two steps at a time, but John didn’t complain as he admired the view from below.

“I think I know what all the fuss is about kilts,” John grinned for a second before a towel came flying at him, and a bare-bottomed Sherlock disappeared into the bedroom. John caught up fast enough to see Sherlock pulling a fresh sheet from the cupboard and heading for the bed. He might never do the dishes, but he was quite meticulous about sheets, wardrobe and socks.

“Flop,” John ordered, unabashedly ogling his lover’s ass as he bent to help fix the sheet.

“I wasn’t finished with you, John.” Sherlock complained straightening up and giving John a narrowed-eyed stare.

“You promised,” John’s lips lifted into a smile and the expression was soon mirrored on his lover’s face. “Now flop.” 

Sherlock flung himself on the bed, making the bed slats creak in protest. He flopped on his front and positioned himself on all fours, arse up.

“Did you just wiggle?” John grinned, his whole body heating at the divine sight of the pale god on the bed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” said Sherlock indignantly, but John could hear the smile in his voice.

John climbed onto the bed behind Sherlock and admired the perfect position Sherlock was in. He traced a finger along the back of Sherlock’s calf then continued along his inner thigh.

Sherlock was gripping the sheets in anticipation. John knew exactly how his lover felt as it was usually Sherlock who teased him until he was on the brink of begging, but John was slowly learning that patience during sex with Sherlock reaped benefits. 

“Get to it John, will you.”

“Shhh” John said sternly but Sherlock kept talking and as much as John loved his voice, he was in need of a moaning not talking detective. He opened the bottom drawer, pulled out what he needed and leaned in to growl in Sherlock’s ear. 

“You teased me today, Sherlock.” John made slow circles on the detective’s back with his fingertips. “Now, it’s my turn,” he could feel his voice rumble, the animalistic need taking over. “But I don’t want you to beg, I want you to shout my name.”

“John,” Sherlock whispered and John’s hand slid to Sherlock’s hair and pulled, making the detective look at him.

“Yes. But I want you to scream into this,” John said as he dangled the ball gag he took from the drawer in front of Sherlock’s face. His mouth opened in a soft gasp, then he looked at John with a smouldering gaze and opened wider, accepting the gag. 

John strapped the convenient toy at the back of Sherlock’s head, batting away the thought of using it when Sherlock was complaining about nicotine withdrawal or lack of cases. An image of his lover tied, spreadeagled, to the bedframe and gagged after a day of annoying behaviour made John reconsider the possibility. 

“Comfortable?” John asked indicating the gag and received a nod. He took a Squash ball from the top drawer and placed it in Sherlock’s hand. In case of inability to safeword, this was their go-to safety precaution. Dropping it was the equivalent of “Vatican Cameos”. 

John looked at his lover, the teasing bastard, now ready for John to take his revenge. He reached under to tease Sherlock’s nipple, to circle it slowly at first before pinching it. Sherlock groaned into the gag, biting it. John pulled a pillow and placed it under Sherlock’s chin. The detective put his head on it, resulting in his arse being in even more delicious position than before. 

“Gorgeous,” John breathed, kissing the back of Sherlock’s neck, letting the curls tickle his nose. He kissed Sherlock’s shoulder then his cheek and his cheekbone. John smiled seeing Sherlock squirm, his free hand gripping the pillow, his eyes wide and pleading. “And so impatient.”

John slid his hand under Sherlock, caressing his abdomen all the way down and stopping before he reached his detective’s cock. He took his hand away and shuffled on the bed to place himself directly behind the roundest arse he’d ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes on. 

He gripped the flesh, feeling the hard muscle under his palms then kneaded, massaging, moving his hands a little upward. Sherlock bucked when John got to his hips and he could hear a muffled yelp and low giggle. John adored that Sherlock was so ticklish. He placed a kiss on Sherlock’s lower back and enjoyed the rumbling sound, then he kissed a trail to his lover’s crease and held Sherlock’s buttocks open so he could slide his tongue in between them. 

More rumbling came but this time of a different nature and John had to force himself not to tug his cock in response. He was too strung out from this day’s denials to last very long if he touched himself. 

John licked his detective’s hole and moved one hand around to take hold of Sherlock’s heavy erection. He could tell by how hard it was that Sherlock was not far from coming either. He teased the cock with a gentle touch before he cupped Sherlock’s smooth sac. He massaged it, feeling the delicate skin. Once John understood the comfort that waxing his pubic hair gave his partner, he did the same with his own. However, he hadn’t shaved his face before coming to bed, so he knew he was scratching Sherlock’s skin with his stubble. He glanced at the ball in Sherlock’s hand; it was held so tight that his knuckles were white. John felt a rush of pride for the restrain Sherlock showcased surrendering himself to John’s ministrations. 

John’s tongue delved inside his lover and he let his saliva pool there as he relished the sounds Sherlock made under his touch. He reached for lube that was now standing on the bedside table and poured some over his detective’s hole, massaging his fingers around it. He pushed his index finger inside, rotating it, spreading the lubricant more before he added another. Sherlock mewled and John knew it was from anticipation as much as the teasing but he had to prepare him well. Carefully, he touched Sherlock’s prostate, just a graze, a teasing touch. Because revenge was best served naked. 

On the absolute verge of losing his mind if he didn’t find himself seated deep inside Sherlock soon, John squirted more lube on his palm. His cock was extremely sensitive, leaking precome, so he was careful to slick himself slowly.  

A grunt of anxious protest came from Sherlock and John slapped his buttock chiding him for the impatience. He aligned his cock at his lover’s entrance and pushed, steadying his breathing, and letting a moan escape his lips.

“Fuck, Sherlock...” John thrust a little more into the tight tunnel, getting his glans in, then a little further before he had to stop again. More and more he slid inside and retreated before Sherlock pushed himself back onto John’s cock until their bodies clapped together. A string of curses and animalistic sounds came from John and Sherlock respectively when they stopped their movements. Sherlock felt so good clenching around his cock, John wanted to live in the moment a little longer. They were joined together, feeling the impending release they both have been waiting for since this afternoon.

John spread Sherlock’s legs wider on the bed so he could position his hips higher than Sherlock’s arse in order to locate his lover’s prostate with the tip of his cock. Sherlock bucked when John succeeded but then braced himself and let John penetrate him, hitting the sweet spot over and over again. The view of Sherlock’s arse coupled with the sounds his lover made around the gag, drove John insane with lust and soon he felt the familiar tingling before he came, spilling his seed deep into Sherlock with rasped barks of incoherent words. After several more hard thrusts, John was spent, his heart was trying to escape his chest and his head was reeling with the array of emotions he felt for the man in front of him.

Sherlock was still delaying his orgasm so John reached to unstrap the gag and tossed it to the side. He helped Sherlock flip over and quickly swallowed as much of the detective’s cock as he could fit into his mouth, his fingers immediately seating themselves in Sherlock’s arse. His own come leaked over his hand as he strived to reach the prostate and suck Sherlock at the same time. It didn’t take long for his lover to start yelling his name.

“John! Yes...John!” 

Sherlock’s semen hit John’s throat and he swallowed eagerly, taking his fingers out and letting Sherlock’s cock twitch his last movement before he released it from his mouth, and climbed up to lay next to his lover.

John admired the pink imprint the ball gag had left along Sherlock’s cheek and, propping himself on his elbow, he kissed the spot.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” John whispered, his voice raw from the vocal exercise he had given his throat moments before.

Sherlock looked at him with a hazy, satisfied gaze before he licked the corner of his mouth. 

“Very happy indeed. Your largesse in bed is unapparelled, but you still have my come on your face,” Sherlock said in a similarly exhausted but amused voice.

“Then clean it, you smartarse,” John leaned in for a kiss and they let their tongues mix languidly, their eyes closing from exhaustion.

_ _ _

John was woken up by a soft noise next to him. He blinked adjusting his eyes to semi darkness as only a dim setting of the bedside lamp was on. Judging from display on the digital clock on the bedside table, he had been asleep for just three hours. He searched for the warmth of his lover next to him and his hand landed on Sherlock’s knee. He patted the leg that was bent in a position indicating that his detective was not lying down. 

Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on the bed holding a box on his lap.

“Oi! Those are the chocolates I bought for you!” John uttered, indignation clear in his sleepy voice.

“I know, that’s why I’m eating them.” Sherlock eyed John’s stern look. “Thank you, John.” He offered a closed-lipped smile with a mouth full of chocolate.

There was a tiny chocolate shop in London where John had found hand-made bon-bons. The ones he picked for Sherlock were dark chocolate with honey filling. 

By the look of Sherlock’s eyes, crinkling at the corners, and his long fingers, unwrapping each chocolate with the giddiness of a kid on Christmas morning, John was certain he picked the gift well. 

Sherlock licked his fingers and reached behind him to retrieve a box.

“Here,” he said simply and handed John the large box wrapped in a pink paper with red hearts. “Don’t look at me like that. The girl at the store wrapped it.”

“It’s quite heavy... not a jumper then.” John noticed, taking the gift and placing it on the bed to unwrap it.

“Excellent deduction, John.”

John snorted at the deadpan comment and ripped the paper.

“Sherlock...that’s...it’s...a photo album.” John looked up at Sherlock before opening it. It had several pictures of buildings which he recognised as Speedy’s café and the entrance to their flat, Angelo’s, Bart’s and several others. The rest of the album was empty. 

“I thought we could fill it with memories of us.” Sherlock looked at his hands in such an uncharacteristically shy gesture, John’s heart swelled for the man even more. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Sherlock Holmes, you are an absolute idiot,” John kissed him again, this time a peck on the lips, tasting some of the chocolate decadence the detective was indulging in.

“You too, John.” Sherlock’s gaze darted to the chocolates then back at John, and the expression on his face became soft, emotional. They both knew exactly what they meant saying those words and nothing else mattered.

John cleared his throat to break the tension and put his gift on the bedside table.

“You didn’t keep you promise, you know...” John said, his voice laced with undertones Sherlock was likely to pick up quickly.

“I did... Oh.”

“You said and I quote ‘I promise to kiss you, lick you and then fuck you until your throat is raw from screaming my name.’” John couldn’t keep the smug expression off his face.

“How inconsiderate of me.” Sherlock perked up in mock indignation, closing the lid of the box and placing it on the ground next to the bed. He stalked closer to John, his body moving fluidly. “I need to amend that immediately. We cannot break promises we made to each other.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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